a costume more resembling that of a Cavalier, or Freebooter; while the services he is called upon to perform require him to be not only a first-class horseman, but able to throw the lazo, catch a wild cow or colt, and tame the latter – in short, take a hand at anything. And at almost anything Gaspar can; for he is man-of-all-work to the hunter-naturalist, as well as his man of confidence.
Why he is riding away from the estancia at such an hour – for it is afternoon – may be guessed from what has gone before. For it is on that same day, when Halberger and his daughter started off to visit the Indian village; and as these had not returned soon as promised, the anxiety of the wife, rendered keen by the presentiment which had oppressed her at their parting, became at length unbearable; and to relieve it Gaspar has been despatched in quest of them.
No better man in all the pampas region, or South America itself, could have been sent on such an errand. His skill as a tracker is not excelled by any other gaucho in the Argentine States, from which he originally came; while in general intelligence, combined with courage, no one there, or elsewhere, could well be his superior. As the Señora said her last words to him at parting, and listened to his in return, she felt reassured. Gaspar was not the man to make delay, or come back without the missing one. On this day, however, he deviates from his usual habit, at the same time from the route he ought to take – that leading direct to the Indian village, whither he knows his master and young mistress to have gone. For while riding along going at a gentle canter, a cock “ostrich” starts up before his horse, and soon after the hen, the two trotting away over the plain to one side. It so chances that but the day before his master had given him instructions to catch a male ostrich for some purpose of natural history – the first he should come across. And here was one, a splendid bird, in full flowing plumage. This, with an observation made, that the ostriches seem less shy than is usual with these wary creatures, and are moving away but slowly, decides him to take after and have a try at capturing the cock. Unloosing his bolas from the saddle-bow, where he habitually carries this weapon, and spurring his horse to a gallop, off after them he goes.
Magnificently mounted, for a gaucho would not be otherwise, he succeeds in his intent, after a run of a mile or so, getting close enough to the birds to operate upon them with his bolas. Winding these around his head and launching them, he has the satisfaction of seeing the cock ostrich go down upon the grass, its legs lapped together tight as if he had hard spliced them.
Riding on up to the great bird, now hoppled and without any chance to get away from him, he makes things more sure by drawing out his knife and cutting the creature’s throat. Then releasing the bolas, he returns them to the place from which he had taken them – on the horn of his recado. This done, he stands over the dead rhea, thus reflecting: —
“I wonder what particular part of this beauty – it is a beauty, by the way, and I don’t remember ever having met with a finer bird of the breed – but if I only knew which one with identical parts the master wants, it would save me some trouble in the way of packing, and my horse no little of a load. Just possible the dueño only cares for the tail-feathers, or the head and beak, or it may be but the legs. Well, as I can’t tell which, there’s but one way to make sure about it – that is, to take the entire carcase along with me. So, go it must.”
Saying this, he lays hold of a leg, and drags the ostrich nearer to his horse, which all the time stands tranquilly by: for a gaucho’s steed is trained to keep its place, without need of any one having care of it.
“Carramba!” he exclaims, raising the bird from the ground, “what a weight the thing is! Heavy as a quarter of beef! Now I think on’t, it might have been better if I’d let the beast alone, and kept on without getting myself into all this bother. Nay, I’m sure it would have been wiser. What will the Señora say, when she knows of my thus dallying – trifling with the commands she gave me? Bah! she won’t know anything about it – and needn’t. She will, though, if I stand dallying here. I mustn’t a minute longer. So up, Señor Avertruz, and lie there.”
At which, he hoists the ostrich – by the gauchos called “avertruz” – to the croup of his recado; where, after a rapid manipulation of cords, the bird is made fast, beyond all danger of dropping off.
This done, he springs upon his horse’s back, and then looks out to see which direction he should now take. A thing not so easily determined; for in the chase after it, the ostrich had made more than one double; and, although tolerably familiar with the topography of that plain, the gaucho is for the time no little confused as to his whereabouts. Nor strange he should be; since the palm-groves scattered over it are all so much alike, and there is no high hill, nor any great eminence, to guide him. Ridges there are, running this way and that; but all only gentle undulations, with no bold projection, or other land-mark that he can remember.
He begins to think he is really strayed, lost; and, believing so, is angry with himself for having turned out of his path – as the path of his duty. Angry at the ostrich, too, that tempted him.
“Avertruz, maldito!” he exclaims, terms in the gaucho vernacular synonymous with “ostrich, be hanged!” adding, as he continues to gaze hopelessly around, “I wish I’d let the long-legged brute go its way. Like as not, it’ll hinder me going mine, till too late. And if so, there’ll be a pretty tale to tell! Santissima! whatever am I to do? I don’t even know the way back to the house; though that wouldn’t be any good if I did. I daren’t go there without taking some news with me. Well; there’s only one thing I can do; ride about, and quarter the pampa, till I see something that’ll set me back upon my road.”
In conformity with this intention, he once more puts his horse in motion, and strikes off over the plain; but he does not go altogether without a guide, the sun somewhat helping him. He knows that his way to the Indian village is westward, and as the bright luminary is now beginning to descend, it points out that direction, so taking his bearings by it, he rides on. Not far, however, before catching sight of another object, which enables him to steer his course with greater precision. This a tree, a grand vegetable giant of the species called ombu, known to every gaucho – beloved, almost held sacred by him, as affording shade to his sun-exposed and solitary dwelling. The one Gaspar now sees has no house under its wide-spreading branches; but he has himself been under them more than once while out on a hunt, and smoked his cigarrito in their shade. As his eye lights upon it, a satisfied expression comes over his features, for he knows that the tree is on the top of a little loma, or hill, about half-way between the estancia and the Indian town, and nearly in the direct route.
He needs nothing more to guide him now; but instead of riding towards the tree, he rather turns his back upon it, and starts off in a different direction. This because he had already passed the ombu before coming across the ostrich.
Soon again he is back upon the path from which he had strayed, and proceeds along it without further interruption, riding at a rapid pace to make up for the lost time.
Still, he is far from being satisfied with himself. Although he may have done that which will be gratifying to his master, there is a possibility of its displeasing his mistress. Most certainly will it do this, should he not find the missing ones, and have to go home without them. But he has no great fear of that; indeed, is not even uneasy. Why should he be? He knows his master’s proclivities, and believes that he has come across some curious and rare specimens, which take time to collect or examine, and this it is which has been retarding his return. Thus reflecting, he continues on, every moment expecting to meet them. But as there is neither road nor any regular path between the two places, he needs to keep scanning the plain, lest on their return he may pass them unobserved.
But he sees nothing of them till reaching the tolderia, and there only the hoof-marks of his master’s horse, with those of his young mistress’s pony, both conspicuous in the dust-covered ground by the doors of the toldos. But on neither does he dwell, for he, too, as were the others, is
